Timing is Everything
by 2cents
Summary: As Steve Rogers is recovered and tries to adapt to the 21st century, he finds support from a nurse who was there when he was found.
1. Chapter 1

_Welcome to the planet_  
_Welcome to existence_  
_Everyone's here_

"So, what do you think it is, Grace? An alien aircraft? An old carrier?"

She tried hard to make sense of the chess board and its pieces laid out in front of her, its white and gray pieces just as white and gray as everything else in that place. You would think that they'd want something red or blue to break the incredible monotony of it all, but no. Every wall, every piece of furniture apparently had to match the grayish outside. Those thoughts were some of the reasons why sometimes it was hard to stay focused on something like a chess game. The move she made guaranteed her at least one more round – she wasn't able to think past that.

"I don't know, Greg. As long as nothing bursts out of anyone's chest, I'm good."

"That's... gross."

He didn't get the reference and she rolled her eyes, wishing someone reminded her of why she was stranded in that base with a clumsy kid who had never seen Alien. Greg had enlisted for the army when he was still in college, and joined shortly after he got out. From everything he had done since they arrived at Greenland, Grace could see that he was very skilled with engines, not so much with people. Only she knew the torture that it was to spend more than a couple of minutes with him, but she didn't have much of a choice. They did have one thing in common, though: they both accepted the fact that, if no one needed them, things were going good.

"All I know is that it must be something big, otherwise the feds wouldn't bother coming to this dead end."

"Feds... yeah, right. Do you really buy that?"

"Please tell me everything about your conspiracy theory, Greg. I can't wait to hear it."

He held up his little metal horse in the air for a couple of seconds before making a killer move. Damn, he was smart.

"All right, all right. You wanna mock me, go ahead."

"As if I needed another reason to mock you."

"Shut up."

"Lieutenant. Shut up, Lieutenant Moore."

"And with this... Lieutenant Moore has lost her 8th chess game in a row. Check mate."

Grace sat back and took a sip from her coffee, which was the only thing that warmed her from the inside out and somehow helped her keep her sanity in check. He proceeded to put the pieces back in their places, and her mind wandered to the day when she volunteered to be stationed there. Back then, she longed for peacefulness and calm, but after a couple of months, it was too calm and too peaceful. Why could she never be satisfied with what she had? Greg interrupted her line of thought.

"You know, feds are often called when..."

The sound of the door being unlocked prevented him from finishing his explanation, and Grace was rather thankful for that interruption. But the feeling quickly vanished.

"Moore! We need you out here, now! Bring the kit."

Greg couldn't help smiling.

"Go on, Lieutenant. Prove me wrong."

Grace's features grew darker by the second, as she geared up to go outside – vest, sweater, coat, boots, gloves, goggles, and finally a rather heavy bag that contained her kit, all of that as fast as one can be with that many layers of clothing. On her way out, she listened as Greg wished her good luck, and it looked like she would need it. The moment she stepped outside, the merciless wind struck her, freezing the skin on her face; that weather wasn't made for humans to endure. The freezing temperature was the same as it was 8 hours ago, the last time she had gone outside; the landscape was not. Out of thin air, they had transformed icy plains into a facility that looked like government, smelled like government, yet she couldn't define whose it was. Feds? She didn't think so, although she'd never admit that Greg was right.

"Moore! Over here!"

She saw Major's hands waving in the snowy air, and marched on towards him, her boots sinking into the snow. He was standing in front of a lit up, tent-like structure which reminded her as the one she had worked in, back in the desert. Well, here was as much as a desert – the only difference was that instead of sand, there was snow.

"Scott! What happened?"

He took off his goggles and sighed. By the look on his face, Grace thought that someone got badly injured.

"We need you to take a look at something... someone."

He didn't correct himself in time. He had said "something", and it freaked her out. Grace had seen a lot of things in her life, but she wasn't quite ready to see an alien yet. The puzzled look on Grace's face demanded answers, but Scott said nothing else; he just turned around and stepped inside – or he tried to. A forceful hand prevented him from going any further than the front door.

"I'm sorry sir, but I can't let you pass."

Scott was big, but the guard was two times his size. Grace was liking this situation less and less by the minute.

"All right, can you please tell Agent Coulson that Major Scott is here to see him?"

"Agent?" Grace thought out loud, and kept on talking as the guard checked the information with someone from inside the tent. "What the hell is going on, Scott?"

"Calm down, Moore."

"Don't tell me to-"

"Scott."

The guard had come back with another man, and he had "agent" written all over him.

"Coulson."

"This way."

Scott felt Grace's eyes frying him up for not telling her anything, but he couldn't even if he wanted to: he didn't know what was going on either. They were directed to a desk and Grace was grateful to be able to step into a warm place and set her bag down on the floor. She tried to read something, anything, on Coulson's face – she got nothing.

"And she is?"

"Lt. Moore, sir, our nurse in charge."

"Nurse?"

That look was one that Grace recognized. The one that said "nurses don't know shit and I want a doctor". Scott also recognized it and anticipated Grace's reaction, intervening before she could say a word.

"She's... your best shot, sir."

"And how's a nurse exactly my best shot?"

"Well... you said your doctor is... inoperative, and..."

He was thinking too much for her standards.

"And I was stationed for a year and a half in Iraq, sir. Is that good enough of a shot?"

Since she was still gazing intently at the agent, she could see that he tried to conceal a smile. Now Grace knew how to talk to him.

"That'll do. I need you to sign this."

He pointed at a sheet on a table to his right, crammed with clauses, and on top, a big "Non-Disclosure Agreement" title. At a glance, Grace made out the words privileged, confidential, discharge, imprisonment. It couldn't get any worse.

"Why... where's the other one?"

"We don't need another one. You will enter alone."

_Enter where? To do what? _

"Sir, I think-"

"Sorry, Major Scott. This is a highly classified situation. I'm sure you can comprehend it."

Grace felt her stomach dropping and it was just a piece of paper. But all the questions that were itching in her head would only be answered if she signed it. Coulson folded the document neatly and tucked it into his jacket pocket, and she picked up her bag.

"This way, Lieutenant."

They passed a set of heavy curtains, leaving Scott behind; passed by a woman in white, laying on a gurney.

"Is that your inactive doctor?"

Coulson looked behind his shoulder.

"Yes. Couldn't handle it. I hope you're as tough as Scott said you are."

"I served the military in a war zone, agent."

He stopped in front of a group of people that stopped on their tracks as we arrived.

"I don't think you've seen anything like this before, Lieutenant."

As they made way for them, Grace repeated in her head, "please don't let it be an alien, please don't let it be an alien, please-"

It wasn't an alien. Actually, it was just a man. All those people vanished from Grace's sight; she approached the gurney where he lay motionless... and partly covered by pieces of ice, which were now defrosting and dripping onto puddles on the floor. The military never really left her: it was like she was back in the conflict zone, seeing a soldier with a broken limb. You always have that first impact, because it's a gut, human feeling; it goes away in a second and suddenly she was thinking clearer than ever. The gravity of the situation forced her concentration, that was what she was good at. Grace shut her mind to anything other than the man in front of her.

"I can't do anything with all this ice over him – you", she demanded, turning around to the group who was now looking at her, "do whatever you need to take it off. And bring some rags or mats, these puddles will make us slip."

As they came closer and started working with small chisels and hammers, she turned to Coulson.

"Who is he?"

"That's irrelevant, Lieutenant. What's his status?"

The trace of concern his voice didn't go unnoticed by Grace.

"Where did you find him?"

"Also irrelevant."

The lack of information wasn't helping and it snapped Grace away from her focus.

"You know, agent, feel free to call your inactive doctor to finish this. I can't work if you don't tell me what I need to know."

He looked around. She was really his only choice.

"All right. These men here were there when he was found. They will tell you what you need to know."

Coulson stepped back and lowered his head. That single gesture touched Grace enough to make her go after him.

"What do you want me to do?", she asked, looking up at him.

"Just... just tell me what you find."

"Tell me everything", she demanded, coming back to the gurney, to the man who was laying on it. While the men proceeded to tell her the conditions in which he was found and finished removing the ice from his body, Grace tried to asses him the best way she could, touching his arms, legs, feet. He was completely frozen, but oddly enough, no one seemed to believe he was dead – not even her, and she had just arrived. But first things first. She pulled out a stethoscope from her bag and attempted to listen to his heart, but his outfit was so thick she would never reach a heartbeat, if there was any. In fact, it seemed like the fabric couldn't even be cut with the regular scissors she had.

"Come, help me out here. Do you see any buttons or straps, anything?"

A couple of men came to help her turn him on his side, and they managed to find a way to unstrap his uniform and undress his torso. Given her state of focus, at that moment she couldn't fully take in the perfection of his features; she could only realize that there was no apparent flaw, and that was enough for her to be amazed. His skin was livid, but not burned; nothing was broken or bruised at any level. Grace had never seen anyone freezing up to death before, but she was sure that they didn't look like that. She put the stethoscope on his chest, and couldn't hear anything. Coulson observed her from a distance.

"Can you please be quiet? I'm trying to listen here."

The chatter died and a grave silence followed. Grace closed her eyes and focused on the faint sound coming through the equipment to her ears. She stood up and Coulson was now standing in front of her – he was smiling.

"He's... he's alive. How long was he buried in ice?"

"Around 70 years."

"70? How? Why? I-" Grace blinked, stuttered, shivered, froze on her feet.

"I take it as there are no injuries."

"No, I mean... nothing I could see. I can't tell you if there's something internal, like a rupture or a bleeding, though."

"I doubt it."

The certainty of that man's wellbeing was astounding. Grace couldn't understand it, let alone argue about it.

"All right, everybody, we need to prep him for transport. We leave in 30."

"We?"

_* featured song: "Dare You To Move", Switchfoot_


	2. Chapter 2

_Everybody's watching you now_

_Everybody waits for you now_

_What happens next?_

Grace had been staring at Agent Coulson for a couple of minutes, but he was way too absorbed in his own thoughts to notice it. She gave in and sat back, asking herself how it happened. An hour ago, she was telling him that the frozen soldier was alive. Now, they were all in a small jet, heading to New York. Grace had never packed that fast. Somehow, Coulson convinced her that her presence was essential in case anything happened on the way - their doctor wasn't of much use since he had left her in Greenland; the aircraft could only handle one passed out person at a time, and the doctor was not a priority. Grace unbuckled her seat belt and stood up.

"Where are you going, Lieutenant?"

"To check on him."

She walked towards the rear, where the soldier was strapped on a gurney - it was the only way they could think of transporting him. While she was throwing everything she had in a couple of bags, they had removed his uniform completely, and geared him up with a regular soldier's attire. Grace picked up the stethoscope from around her neck, but instead of putting it to her ears, she propped it onto a pile of metal cases beside her. For the first time, she was alone with him; he wasn't half covered in ice or wrapped in a weird canvas outfit. He was just a man, a soldier, like many others she has seen, but unlike any of them, he looked peaceful. His lips, although full, still carried a purple tone from the freezing; his skin was pale, but intact, no bruises or edemas whatsoever. _How is that possible?_, Grace kept asking herself. If there was an answer to that question, it wasn't in that plane.

She reached out to feel his temperature and laid her hand on his forehead; he was still cold. In a fluid, unconscious movement, her hand slid down and traced his eyebrow; Grace wondered, for the first time, what his eyes looked like when they were open.

"How is he?"

The question startled Grace, and she had no answer for it.

"I... I was just checking his temperature, it still hasn't gone up."

She reached for the stethoscope and quickly checked his heart, its beat low and steady.

"Still showing bradycardia, heartbeats around 40. He's doing fine... I think."

"You think? That's not good enough."

"Agent, I won't pretend I know what I'm doing, or what to expect here. All I know is that I was rushed onto this plane to make sure that this man doesn't die on our way back, and I don't even know how to prevent that from happening."

"I understand you're upset. You will be rewarded for your cooperation."

"Upset? I don't think it describes what I'm feeling right now. I'm lucky that I actually live in New York, otherwise I'd be homeless the moment I stepped out of this plane. You took me off my base. Now what? Do you know what happens next, Agent Coulson?"

"Yes. You sign another form."

"Yet another NDA?", she asked, rolling her eyes, going back to her seat.

"No. An employment contract with SHIELD."

"A what?"

"An employment contract. Captain Rogers is going to require full time observation. You will be observing him during the night shift. The others will be covered by our agents."

Grace's mouth was gaping open.

"But... why? Why me?"

He wanted to say that it was because he saw the way she looked at, and cared for the captain. Because his gut instinct was to trust her. But working for SHIELD, trust isn't something instinctive - it had to be earned. There was only one reason he could tell her then.

"Because it takes a soldier to understand a soldier", he said, sitting down. "And I knew you lived in New York, otherwise I wouldn't have asked you to pack."

"What if... what if I didn't want to come?"

"You came, didn't you?"

Grace looked at the cloudy horizon, feeling a little less tense about what was happening, and wondering if that contract might give her the answers she was looking for. It could also let her know what his eyes really looked like. The pilot's voice came in muffled through the speakers.

"20 minutes to base, sir."

Coulson caught her glancing in the direction where the captain was, her eyebrows furrowed. He fought back a smile and realized it was the second time he had to do that in her presence; that was a good sign.

"Relax, lieutenant. He's safe now."

She didn't. Grace kept her eyes on the captain the entire time, until the moment when the door opened; she stood up and walked back to his side, without even thinking about it. But Coulson had other plans for her, and beckoned her to follow him on his way out of the plane. After a second of hesitation, she glanced one more time at the captain, and remembered they had brought her there to care for him; with that thought, she gave in and stepped outside, one hand blocking the bright sunlight, just to realize they were on top of a considerably tall building in the middle of the city. Outside, a small group waited for them.

"Director."

They stopped in front of a massive, bald man, all worn in black, and sporting an eye patch which probably concealed a horrible memory in the form of a scar. Grace looked up at him, squinting, and waited until they were properly introduced.

"This is Lieutenant Moore, sir. Moore, meet Nick Fury, our director."

"Director Fury, nice to meet you", she said, extending her arm for a handshake that never happened. Instead, Nick stared at Coulson long enough for Grace to understand that she shouldn't be there. That was hardly her problem, though. She turned around in time to see that two men were carrying the gurney all the way into the building and asked, her words faster than her thoughts:

"Where are they taking him?"

"Lieutenant, can you give us a minute here? I need to have a word with Agent Coulson", Fury said, still not looking at her.

"Sure. I'll be right over...", she trailed off, not knowing exactly where she would be. She walked towards the edge of the rooftop and looked over the city, but after a couple of seconds she recognized the windows of the building across the street. It didn't take much longer for her to spot her own building, just three blocks away. She had passed by SHIELD headquarters at least once a day for a couple of years, and of course, never suspected anything. Shaking her head at how unbelievable that was, she turned around and saw by their gestures that the two men were still arguing; they could discuss about it all day, as long as she could keep the job that was offered to her. Finally, Agent Coulson made a call, and after hanging up, walked over to her.

"Let me guess: if you told your boss that I was coming, he wouldn't have let you bring me here in the first place, let alone offer me a job."

"Something along those lines."

"And?"

"And there's a cab with your bags in the trunk waiting for you outside the building. You have one day to get your life back on track. We expect you to be here tomorrow at 8 pm."

Grace smiled a large, grateful smile.

"You're a pretty persuasive man, Phil Coulson, I'll give you that. I'll see you tomorrow night. Director!" She saluted him from a distance, and vanished down the stairs.

"You better be a hundred percent right about this, Coulson."

"I am, boss. And I think Captain Rogers will agree with me. You know... when he wakes up."

Nick shot him a confused look – as confused as he allowed himself to be.

"You know that he might never..."

"I know that. But we're talking about a man who was buried in ice for over 70 years and survived. We can't be sure of anything at this point."

Fury had to agree, but agreeing meant that the captain could wake up at any moment. This demanded preparation, and apparently Coulson had it all figured out. It wasn't a surprise – he had been waiting for this moment for years.

"We need to prepare a room for him, with pieces of furniture from the 40s... to ease him in. You don't want him to wake up and be thrown into this century, it might be too much for him to handle."

He was wearing his sunglasses, but Nick knew exactly what his eyes were looking like behind them. They were hopeful, and he caved in.

"All right. You need to prepare the agents who will take care of him."

Coulson just nodded and turned around to leave.

"You keep an eye on that nurse, Coulson."

"Will do, boss."

"You people work fast", Grace thought, as the agent who had brought her there closed the door. She was now in a mock-up room, designed with the sole purpose of making its respectable occupant feel at home. The light, beige curtains blew as if real wind was coming in through the windows, which showed a landscape from the 40s, reproduced in large panels strategically placed on the outside, on which fake buildings had lit up windows. The captain was lying on a simple, military bed with a white metal headboard; to his left, a nightstand with a lamp, a water jug and a newspaper. Grace got closer to check it out its date – May 19th, 1944, its headline was something about the end of the Mount Cassino battle. Besides being fast, they were really, really thorough.

She put the newspaper back where it was and knuckled her fingers, tired of signing tons of documents that sentenced her to the harshest penalties in case she as much as said the name of the organization she was working for now. It's not like she could say it anyway – SHIELD stood for an awful long name which she didn't bother memorizing. It was easier to remember the fake one: New York City Health Department. Naturally, her eyes were drawn to him once again.

He was still resting in his cargo pants and a white t-shirt with a logo that said "SSR", which Grace didn't recognize. Nothing else had changed: he was as intact and pale as he was the first time she saw him. She reached out for his wrist, to check his pulse; he was a bit warmer than the day before, his heartbeats still faint, but his lips were recovering their color.

Coulson got there in time to see her reaching for the captain's forehead.

"Good evening, Lieutenant."

Grace moved her hand back in a swift move.

"Good evening, Agent."

He looked around, proud of what he had accomplished: everything looked as familiar as he wanted it to be. There was one thing left to change, though. He put a rather large file on the dresser and handed Grace a duffel bag.

"Your uniform."

She placed it on a chair and opened it, pulling a gorgeous vintage nurse uniform from the 40s and barely concealing her amazement.

"It's an army nurse uniform from 1943, which we had custom made for you and the other agents."

"Wow", she said under her breath, holding up a white dress. "You know, if I lived in that decade, this is what I would be wearing. The war... it's where I would be."

"I'm sure you would. That's why you're here."

He regarded her with kindness, which was something she didn't expect from an agent, and it made it easier for her to trust him. Agent Coulson, with his thin hair, black suit, hands in his pockets, almost out of place, definitely out of words. Grace nodded towards the dresser.

"What's in the file?"

"Well, it's... everything you need to know about Captain Rogers. I suggest you take this first night to read it. You might find some answers to your questions."

"All right, sir. I'll do that."

"Good night, Lieutenant."

"Phil!"

He stopped, his hand on the door knob.

"Thanks."

"No problem", he replied to her, just to whisper as the door closed, "Grace."


	3. Chapter 3

_****If you stuck with me until this chapter, thank you so very much. This story is just something that I needed to write and I didn't expect it to have this many reads and reviews and people adding the story to their favorites. A special thanks to Maxiekat - this chapter wouldn't be the same without you!_

_Disclaimer: I don't own The Avengers or Captain America. Featured songs: "Don't Leave Home", Dido; "Moonlight Becomes You", Bing Crosby._

* * *

_**Please don't think of getting up for me**_

_**You don't even need to speak**_

Grace had gone searching for a cup of coffee, succeeded in finding one and went back to the room where she was supposed to spend the next several hours. Now, she was staring at that manila file on her lap, hesitant, but unsure as to why. A quick glance at her watch showed her that only five minutes had passed since she came back, and her coffee was getting cold. It was going to be the first of many long nights.

The cover of the file she was reluctant to open read "War Department, Records Jacket, United States Army", and it was supposed to tell her everything she needed to know about the soldier she helped rescue. It certainly was thick enough. Grace looked at him and perused his features one more time, from his thick eyebrows and long lashes all the way down to his new pair of brown combat boots; yes, she wanted to know more about him. The first page was actually a second cover; it had the SSR seal (and now she knew what the symbol on his shirt meant, "Strategic Scientific Reserve") and a big red "Inactive" stamp. It also showed a case study number, and his codename... Captain America. Not any captain, but the captain of a whole nation at war.

As she flipped the cover open, there was a black and white photograph, a bit weathered by time, partially hidden by the file's tab. Behind it, his personnel file told Grace that his name was Steven G. Rogers, and he was born in July 4, 1918.

"July 4th? Can't get any more patriotic than that, Steven," she said, just before pulling out the photograph – the air fled her lungs in a loud gasp. The more she looked at it, the less it made sense. She had never seen limbs so frail, shoulders so narrow, cheeks so hollow; and somewhere in her head she needed to understand that the puny kid in the photograph and the giant lying in front of her were the same person.

She fought the urge to flip through all the pages in an attempt to deal with the confusion caused by the picture, but this wasn't some book that you jump to the last pages to see how it ends before you decide to read what's in between. Looking up, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes; in her mind shone flashes of the night when he was found, and how her life had taken a dramatic turn in such a short period of time. And she heard, as if Coulson was right next to her: "It takes a soldier to understand a soldier."

"Shit," she said under her breath. "You win, Coulson. I will understand this soldier."

Steve had five different enlistment forms, in different cities; further on she came to know that he was really from Brooklyn, and had been a fine arts student. He was the nightmare of the army doctors and would have failed on one of his health issues alone; his medic record listed twelve.

"Son, I'm saving your life," Grace said out loud, mimicking what a doctor in his righteous mind would say while stamping 4F on his form. She pictured that brave little man, walking out desolate, but not defeated, as he would try it four more times, until it happened.

The next couple of sheets were reports of an afternoon when a medical experiment took place, called "Project Rebirth", to which he had willingly volunteered. There were no details, only a general description of the event that transformed a 98-pound weakling into a super-enhanced soldier. From what was described, it didn't only give him extra pounds in muscles and 5 inches in height – it enhanced every single characteristic of his, such as agility and intelligence.

Grace kept on reading the report, and somehow she was able to form memories of experiences she had never lived, places she'd never been, and yet she saw him as clearly as if she was there. She felt the strain of his body being subjected to that extreme transformation and getting used to a new shape; witnessed his rise from a propaganda boy to a respected captain who took down an entire terrorist organization; and finally, respected him for his decision to sink in the ice with an aircraft that carried enough bombs to wipe out the east coast of the United States.

But what struck her the most was that the strong soldier sleeping peacefully in front of her seemed capable of enduring any challenge, any enemy – and at that moment, she didn't even know half of what he had done. But the one who had applied to be a soldier for five times, failed them all and then jumped at the chance when he got one, even if it meant going through a mysterious experiment, was the former Steve Rogers. That scrawny man, whose expression of absolute resolution didn't match for a second his physical condition, was the one who would end up sacrificing everything for what he believed in; and he would have done it regardless of the shape he found himself in.

Grace was still working on believing what she was reading, when she was interrupted by a tall, lean woman whose uniform told Grace that she was a SHIELD agent. For some reason it made her wonder why Coulson didn't get to wear one of those uniforms and she scratched her nose in a ridiculous attempt to conceal a smile.

"Lt. Moore? I'm Agent Hill. I was sent here to give you these," she said, handing Grace a rather big briefcase after they shook hands. Grace set it on her chair and opened it, to reveal lots of vials, separated in trios.

"What are those?"

"I don't know, and you don't need to know either. You have to give Captain Rogers a full dose, which is composed of three vials, every day by morning."

Grace held up the vials against the light, their liquids different in color and density.

"Morning? Why me, then? Why not the agent from the day shift?"

"Coulson's orders."

Grace smiled and put the vials back in the case, closing it. "Is he... is he around?"

"No. The good ones are always busy," she said, with a smirk.

"I understand. Well... thanks."

"Lieutenant."

"The good ones are always busy," Grace repeated after the agent left. "why aren't you busy, Captain Rogers?"

She caught herself looking at him, as she would do many times in the upcoming nights, like a child would look at a shiny toy through a window front, knowing that they would never be able to afford it; they just keep hoping that if they behave well for long enough, they might earn it. It was hard to tell, however, just how good someone would have to be to earn the affection of a true hero – that is, if he woke up.

While she waited for that day to come, Grace made sure she read everything about him – at least, everything they would let her read. There were moments when she got so excited that she felt like shaking him awake, to ask him to tell her everything, the stories of his battles, the missions he had led; in return, she would tell him about the impact he had, and what it meant for her, as an officer, to meet such a brilliant commander; they would talk about the feelings of being in a battlefield, the grief of losing fellow soldiers and the pride of serving their country. But there he lay still, always in a deep slumber as if nothing could stir his rest; as for Grace, she devoted herself to the lonely task of knowing who he was – and developing a growing feeling of admiration while doing it. That's why she didn't notice when someone else entered the room in one of those quiet nights.

"Director Fury just asked me why you requested access to the classified Project Rebirth files."

"Hello, Agent Coulson," she said, closing the file she was reading. "And what did you tell him?"

"That they contained Rogers' medical information. They don't," he added, coming up to the other side of the bed, "but you have already read everything you could put your hands on."

"Every single thing, and more than once. It's just... amazing."

"He _is_ one of a kind." Stressing that verb in the present was his subtle way of declaring his belief that Steve would wake up. "How's his temperature?"

"Slowly rising. It hit 90 yesterday."

Coulson paced around, as if weighing a decision.

"We're going to add a heating pad to his bed. Nothing drastic. We warm him up for a day or two and see what happens."

Grace assented and the room grew quiet; she was used to it, and Coulson didn't seem to mind. He walked to the fake window and stood there a long while, as if he was really looking out across the night. She went back to the file she was reading and when she raised her head again, he was sitting on the other chair, leaning forward, both arms on the bed.

"Agent Hill told me that you spend your nights here... when I'm not around."

He chuckled and Grace could tell that he was thinking about punishing Agent Hill for telling her that, but he didn't say anything then. After a long while, he said what had been hanging on his tongue – it just wasn't that easy to say aloud.

"I don't want to miss it."

"You won't."

He stood up and looked right into Grace's eyes; his gaze was never threatening. In him she knew a quiet, loyal ally.

"I'm going away for a few days," he said, fishing for something shiny inside his pocket. "Make sure he doesn't wake up to chaos."

He grabbed her hand and placed a dog tag on her palm, before heading for the door. She ran her fingers on the cold metal of the plate; the first lines read Rogers, Steven G.

"I'm going to get you a radio. It's too quiet in here."

The following night, Grace couldn't help but smile when she opened the door and saw a mirror and an old radio sitting on top of Steve's dresser. There was nothing these people couldn't get done. She wasn't really expecting the radio to work, so she was rather surprised to turn it on and find out that not only it worked, but it was playing a song, complete with that typical white noise from old radio stations. She kept the volume down, as if it would wake up the captain; still, it was amazing how a simple song gave the room a whole other feel. Grace looked down at her outfit, then back at Steve, who looked just like a soldier: fresh from the battle, recovering from a minor injury, sleeping under her watch... and the song did the trick.

_You're all dressed up to go dreaming_

_Now don't tell me I'm wrong_

Before she knew it, her eyes were closed and they were outside of a small club; he would be wearing his full uniform, and Grace would be close to his chest, feeling each heartbeat, dancing slowly to Bing Crosby. He might even whisper something naive and gracious, like "Moonlight becomes you."

_And what a night to go dreaming_

_Mind if I tag along?_

His rhythm would be a little off, but she wouldn't care; his hand would be holding hers firmly and his scent would make her wish the song would never end... but it did, and with it, Grace was sent back to reality. She turned off the radio at once; if she had kept listening to it, she would have believed that the moonlight was really coming through those fake windows.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

"You know I can't make copies of these documents, Grace."

"Come on, Stan! It's my night off and I really want to read these," she pleaded, putting on her best puppy dog expression.

"I don't care. Go to the movies, bake a cake, find yourself a boyfriend. Plus, I don't even need to look at the records to know that you read them last week."

"Yeah, but I need to take some notes this time."

"Not gonna happen."

"Fine," she trailed off, cursing under her breath. She had stayed two hours after her shift ended to get those documents and now she couldn't even take the copies home. She walked out of the building, trying to figure out what to do with her night now that her plans were ruined – her idea of a fun Thursday night involved endless cups of chai, cinnamon crackers and lots of Steve Rogers. But she had to abandon that line of thoughts and found herself cursing again: it had started to rain and she obviously didn't have an umbrella.

A couple of blocks later, Grace was startled by the sound of sirens and police cars flying past her, heading in the direction where she was coming from; people started to run, either towards or away from where the commotion was. She looked back and followed the tumult, partly because she wanted to, partly because she was being led by it, tiptoeing as she approached the police cars, trying to see what was going on, until she spotted a very familiar bald head standing above the crowd. It was Director Fury, and Grace grasped her own throat as if her heart was coming out of her mouth.

At that moment, she didn't care if they were men of women, young or old, she just pushed them as hard as she could until she could see something... and she saw it. Steve Rogers was on his feet, looking around him, lost in time and space. His eyes were finally open.


	4. Chapter 4

_It took me long enough to update this! Anyway, I hope you enjoy it, and thanks again to Maxiekat :)  
Disclaimer: I don't own The Avengers or Captain America. Song: All I Can Do, Tyrone Wells  
_

* * *

_**But these years keep coming like waves  
They wash over me, day after day**_

A silence fell, so deep and deafening that it almost hurt Grace's ears. This was unexpected, given the amount of black cars closing in and the crowd surrounding her - the same crowd she had pushed and shoved to stand where she was. The first sounds she thought she heard were the raindrops falling, hollow and heavy on her head; Grace blinked a few times and gradually became aware of the noises, the screeching tires, the voices asking each other what was going on. She felt the urge to scream, to tell them all to shut up - what was happening was too damn important to be interrupted.

_"I don't want to miss it."_

Coulson's voice resounded in her head, as vivid as the pang in her chest, as loud as the guilt she felt for not being there for him, for the both of them who cared so much about Captain Rogers. Of all the ways Grace imagined this moment, this was not even close to how it should be. In her dreams, she would be the first thing he saw when he woke up; she would do everything in her power so that he felt safe. Now, not only that didn't happen, but all that was left for her to do was to stare at that surreal scene: Steve Rogers and Nick Fury, in the middle of the street, talking to each other. She saw as Steve turned and looked around him, glancing at those insanely bright billboards, and then his face turned pale and hopeless, showing how hard it was for him to understand the hand he had just been dealt. Grace had them in clear sight; they were only a few feet away from where she was standing, and at the same time they seemed to be completely out of her reach. She was not ready for that; as a result, her nearly catatonic state lasted until Director Fury made a motion to leave. As she watched them walking towards the SHIELD building, her mind was kickstarted, and her legs moved before she consciously ordered them to. Grace marched in their direction, but could only catch up with them once they were already inside the building.

"Director Fury!" she half-yelled, her voice not quite as firm as she intended it to be. Her shout did, however, make both men turn around to face her. Grace stopped in her tracks, her hair wet and plastered across her forehead, her breath short and uneven - there was no denying that Steve's presence moved her in ways she couldn't yet define. Still, she couldn't look at anywhere else but his wandering eyes, while Nick dismissed a couple of guards that had come in with them before finally replying to her.

"Yes, Lieutenant."

His mention of her rank had an unexpected effect: it made Steve look right back at Grace, which he hadn't done before. Being a lieutenant, belonging to the army ranks must have made her immediately worthy of respect, and she could see a sparkle of newfound sympathy in his countenance. She stuttered - mentally at first, and then again when she finally managed to open her mouth.

"I'm coming with you."

Her sentence sounded so preposterous and empty to Nick that his expression didn't even change when he answered to it.

"You don't get a say in this."

"But Coulson..."

"Agent Coulson is on assignment. He has been informed about this situation and will be back as soon as possible. Meanwhile..."

"Meanwhile, I'll go to the medical center and make sure we're ready. We have a very specific procedure to go through when Captain Rogers woke up," she jumped in, glancing at Steve. Nick knew she was telling the truth; however, he still tried a way out.

"Isn't today your day off, Moore?"

"Sir," she turned to face his one good, judging eye, "I'm not going anywhere."

There was nothing Nick could say to make Grace change her mind. Steve looked at both of them, and she could only think about was how imperative it was that she wiped that frown off of his forehead as soon as she could.

"Fine. I need to have a word with the Captain and we will meet you at the medical center in 15."

"Yes, sir", she replied and they parted ways.

"Lieutenant?"

Grace turned around, but kept walking backwards, a huge smile now stamped on her tired face.

"Get some coffee and put yourself together."

She laughed and nodded at the idea of being such a dripping mess of a woman. If she wanted to impress Steve, she certainly did it the wrong way, but it didn't matter. The elevator doors opened and she got in.

"I've been awake for 18 hours straight, sir. But thanks for the advice."

She thought she might have been delusional, but Grace could swear that she saw a tiny smirk emerging from Steve's lips before the steel doors closed. When she got to the floor where the medical center was located, their chief doctor was running around the place, and the fact that she seemed to be on her own wasn't that good of a sign.

"Dr. Jensen? Where's... where's Dana?"

The doctor stopped in the doorway to one of the trauma rooms and placed her hands on her hips. Dr. Jensen was a 60-something year old, gray-haired woman, lean and tall and tough as nails. Her speech was direct and fast, making it clear that she never had time for bullshit.

"Swimming with sharks? On a plane to Costa Rica? Who knows? Didn't show up today, didn't bother to call or anything. This is what happens when they hire nurses while I'm on vacation. Idiots", she trailed off and kept on walking.

Grace had met her twice, when they took Captain Rogers for CT scans. She had no problems with dealing with the doctor's straightforward ways, but the speed of her words always made Grace think twice about what she would say next.

"Well... I just came to tell you that Captain Rogers woke up, which means I'm unemployed for the time being but... I told Director Fury that I would perform all the exams we had listed for the Captain in the procedures..."

"Unemployed? Are you kidding me?" she yelled from the other room, and then came back to talk to Grace. "I have been trying to get you to work with me ever since I was told that you were in the Army - see, I served in Vietnam so I know how good you have to be to go to war and come back sane enough to keep working. But Phil wouldn't let me and I respect that man too damn much to step over him."

Grace muttered a "thank you", but Dr. Jensen interrupted her to listen to something on her earpiece, putting her hand to her ear.

"Yeah. No, it's Bugs Bunny. Of course it's me, Hill. Again? You got to be kidding me. All right, I'm on my way."

Grace stood there, a bit confused with that flood of information - the fact that she really needed to sleep didn't help either. Thankfully, the doctor asked a simple question.

"Grace, right?"

"Yes, doctor."

"Just do whatever you need to do for the Captain – Hill just told me that Agent Barton is landing and fell from yet another rooftop. I don't know what's wrong with that kid, seriously. Anyway, I'll be back in a few", she said, and stormed out.

Grace was thankful for the silence that followed, and proceeded to get herself together, as Nick had ordered her to. When Captain Rogers arrived, all by his own, she was already presentable again. She dared to look into his eyes for what it seemed like a millisecond, and Grace didn't know if it was the bright lights or the whiteness of the room, but behind the long lashes, his eyes were a transparent mix of gray and blue. He then looked at her outfit, and once again she saw his forehead turn into a frown.

"Oh", she said, following his gaze and running her hands down the skirt of the vintage uniform, "I'm sorry, I... I didn't have time to find a new one to wear."

"So you're a nurse then?"

"Yes. Sorry to disappoint. When Fury called me 'lieutenant' before, you must have thought..."

He flashed a quick smirk.

"Ma'am, if I said I've been able to think about anything at all for the past hour, I'd be lying. But I do recognize that uniform. I've seen it before."

"That was the point", Grace said, pulling a steely cart with blood work material. By the look on his face, she realized that he was going to be disheartened very quickly unless someone took the time to explain things to him. He was a brilliant strategist, Grace knew that much; but even great minds had the right to be confused when they woke up in a different millennium. She showed him to a chair and sat down in front of him.

"Who was there when you woke up?" she asked him, trying to assess how bad his first moments were.

"No one", he replied, his voice husky and low. "I just... opened my eyes and the radio was on, a baseball game was on but... something was wrong."

Grace strapped a rubber band around his arm, although she didn't have to - his skin was so pale that she would have found a vein anyway.

"How's that?"

"The game... I was there when it happened."

A short "oh" escaped her mouth as she picked a syringe, wondering how an intelligence agency could make such a stupid mistake.

"Then a woman came in", he kept on, gesticulating with his free hand, "I asked her a few questions and she lied her way through them, so..."

"Here we are", Grace finished his sentence, watching his blood fill the third vial. "It was probably Sarah, it was her shift. And we dressed like this in case you woke up and one of us was there. We didn't want you to be confused. Well, too confused."

"The clothes are the least of your problems", he said and promptly realized how awkward that sentence sounded in his head. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that, I just..." He sighed and hung his head. There was no way he could fix this without a good amount of stuttering, and in the end, he knew he would just embarrass himself even further. Grace smiled at his uneasiness and the fact that he had no idea of what was considered embarrassing nowadays.

"Don't worry, Captain. I get it."

There was a fleeting silence as she laid another blood-filled vial next to the others.

"So Sarah... Is she a Lieutenant too?"

"No, just me."

He nodded, but Grace knew it meant that he didn't understand a single thing.

"I'm sorry, I'm just trying to understand how things work around here."

Grace smiled. They have been talking for about five minutes and already had a few things in common.

"I've been working here for a while and I'm stil trying to figure it out, Captain. It was much simpler in the army."

She pulled out the needle from his arm and, out of habit, pressed a small piece of cotton to the puncture.

"What am I doing?", she thought out loud, and when she took the piece of cotton away, the puncture was nearly imperceptible. "You heal four times faster..."

"... than an average human being. I remember that much. So you... you know", he stated, avoiding her eyes. They were now sitting there talking, since the first part of the exams was done. Grace wanted to tell him everything, but that was neither the time nor the place to do it. The man had enough to deal with as it was, so she stood up, hoping he would follow her lead, but he didn't. He stood still, his eyes trained on her, demanding an answer, in need of an explanation - anything that would make sense to his freshly woken mind.

"I was there when they found you", she finally said, trying to avoid his eyes but finding herself unable to do so.

"You... you were? How? Why? Fury didn't tell me anything about that."

"Well, Fury didn't have time to tell you much, Captain. I was stationed in Greenland for a couple of months and when they pulled you out from the ice, they needed a doctor. Since they didn't have one, a nurse was the next best thing."

The memory of his frozen body flashed before her eyes, and she blinked to make it go away, as she tried to make her story shorter.

"I think Agent Coulson appreciated my work, and here I am."

"And what exactly do you do around here, Lieutenant?"

"As of this morning, I'm just a nurse at SHIELD. But until last night...", she trailed off, thinking of the best way to break it down to him.

"Until last night... what?"

Grace took a deep breath to give her the courage to stop talking to him. If she had her way, she'd take him home and spend the rest of the day telling him everything she knew. But this was SHIELD, and there was no room for daydreaming or wishful thinking.

"How about this: we go through a few more exams, and if there's time, I'll tell you what you want to know."

The corner of his mouth turned up in a smirk.

"If you say so, Lieutenant."

"Grace", she said, standing up. This time he followed her. "Just call me Grace."


End file.
